« He knows. I don't know what, but he knows something. About me. He knows I'm different, that there's something wrong with me. And he's known that for a long time. That's why he takes care of me, I'm his permanent good deed. He knows I can't talk, and he doesn't insist, but he's watching me, he's trying to understand. There are moments of transparency between us where I feel all this too. »

« Trust and love are inseparable. »

« He would have given anything to stop loving him. The old tricks didn't work anymore. In fact, they had never worked. How did you cease to love someone? Was it one of the most intractable puzzles there is? The more stubborn we were, the less it worked. The song was followed by a slow. Instead of going away, which would have been smarter, he drew him to him. He felt her smell and clung to her, hating her, hating himself. Now he had to endure the torture of guessing his body under his dress. He put a hand in the hollow of his kidneys and squeezed, louder than he should. He was pîtoyably hungry for her. What for? What was so special about her? »